Monday, May 25, 2009

THE DOODY PARADE

It seems that every year there is a research study that concludes peoples’ biggest fear is public speaking. I beg to differ.

In fact, according to a new report using laboratory chicken experimentation, the biggest fear people have is: Making a doody somewhere other than their house.

This is probably most difficult to avoid when you are work, and often put into motion only as a last resort. Even then, we need to wait for the right time.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I also believe there are no atheists when you have to unload at work, because soon the praying begins…

“Please Lord, don’t let any co-workers be in the restroom when I:
a. Enter the restroom.
b. Enter the stall.
c. Am in the middle of my movement.
d. When I exit the stall.
e. When I exit the restroom.”

I had insult added to injury yesterday when I visited a teacher at a different high school. Before we got down to work she asked if I needed to use the restroom.

I desperately needed to. I was hoping to hold my bowels hostage until after our meeting and I arrived home. But like an expectant mother, that precious bundle of brown joy was coming out and had a mind of its own. So, I was actually glad she offered it.

But then came the kicker. I had to get the key from the Main Office. No big deal, I naively assumed, until the key came.

I was handed a giant, four-foot piece of wood shaped like a key. It may as well have been 10 feet tall and fluorescent pink. Attached to this was a heavy-duty chain from which the real restroom key was dangling.

So now I have to prance down the hall, holding this enormous wooden key that tells the entire world that I’m going to the bathroom.

I felt like I was leading a parade, holding my giant toilet key like a baton and shouting gleefully, “Hey everybody, follow me! Come join the doody parade! Ta Ta Ta Da Da Da! Yay!”



Like this was a production of “The Music Man” and I should be wearing some ornamental headdress and be followed by trumpet players and baton twirlers. What was I, The Pied Piper of Poop?

I won’t even pretend to understand the school’s motivation for forcing visitors to cart around such a humiliating talisman just to use the facilities.

The only good news was that despite all the turmoil, everything flowed like a doody-filled river.

Good thing too, because I faced Memorial Day traffic on the way home, and my usual 20-minute drive took 60 minutes. Had I not used the restroom, I would have experienced my own battlefield with an explosion in my pants.

3 comments:

  1. Dear Pied Piper of Poop,

    OMG! You are the funniest, next to your brother (of course)! This one had me laughing so hard, I was crying.

    Doody would like know, if the teacher didn't ask you if you had to go to the bathroom, would you have crapped in your pants?

    Doody's wife

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